Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still and criest

'Alack, why does he so ?'

Alb.

See thyself, devil!

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Proper deformity shows not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.

Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Were 't my fitness
To let these hands obey my blood,

They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones: howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.

Gon. Marry, your manhood mew.

Enter a Messenger.

Alb. What news?

Mess. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead; Slain by his servant, going to put out

The other eye of Gloucester.

Alb.

Gloucester's eyes!

Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
Opposed against the act, bending his sword

To his great master; who, thereat enraged,
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead;
But not without that harmful stroke, which since
Hath pluck'd him after.

Alb.
This shows you are above,
You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester!
Lost he his other eye?

Mess.

Both, both, my lord.

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;

'Tis from your sister.

Gon.

[Aside] One way I like this well;

But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck

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80

Upon my hateful life: another way,

The news is not so tart.-I'll read, and answer.

[Exit.

Alb. Where was his son when they did take his eyes? Mess. Come with my lady hither.

Alb.

He is not here.

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Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again.

Alb. Knows he the wickedness?

Mess. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him; And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might have the freer course.

Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you the reason?

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, which since his coming forth is thought of; which imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, that his personal return was most required and necessary.

Kent. Who hath he left behind him general?

Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far.

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?

ΙΟ

Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down

Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a queen

Over her passion; who, most rebel like,

Sought to be king o'er her.

Kent.

O, then it moved her.

Gent. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
Were like a better way: those happy smilets,
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief,
Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved,

If all could so become it.

Kent.

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Made she no verbal question?

Gent. Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of 'father'

Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart;

Cried Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters!

Kent! father! sisters! What, i' the storm? i' the night?
Let pity not be believed!' There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes,
And clamour moisten'd: then away she started
To deal with grief alone.

The stars above us, govern our conditions;

Else one self mate and mate could not beget

Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

Gent. No.

Kent. Was this before the king return'd?

Gent.

No, since.

30

Kent. Well, sir, the poor distress'd Lear 's i' the town; Who sometime in his better tune remembers

What we are come about, and by no means

Will yield to see his daughter.

Gent.

Why, good sir?

40

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own un

kindness,

That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her

To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights

To his dog-hearted daughters, these things sting

His mind so venomously, that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.

Gent.

Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not? Gent. 'Tis so, they are afoot.

Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear, 5C
And leave you to attend him: some dear cause
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile;

When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go
Along with me.

SCENE IV. The same. A tent.

[Exeunt.

Enter, with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor,
and Soldiers.

Cor. Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even now
As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;

Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,
With hor-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow

In our sustaining corn. A century send forth;
Search every acre in the high-grown field,

And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] What can man's wisdom

In the restoring his bereaved sense?

He that helps him take all my outward worth.

Doct. There is means, madam :

Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,

The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.

Cor.

All blest secrets,

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate
In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him;

ΙΟ

Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.

Mess.

Enter a Messenger.

News, madam; 20

The British powers are marching hitherward.

Cor. 'Tis known before; our preparation stands

In expectation of them.

O dear father,

It is thy business that I go about;

Therefore great France

My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,

But love, dear love, and our aged father's right:
Soon may I hear and see him!

SCENE V. Gloucester's castle.

Enter REGAN and OSWALD.

[Exeunt.

Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth?

Osw.

Reg. Himself in person there?
Osw.

Your sister is the better soldier.

Ay, madam.

Madam, with much ado:

Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?
Osaw. No, madam.

Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him?
Osw. I know not, lady.

Reg. Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.

It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out,
To let him live where he arrives he moves
All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone,

In pity of his misery, to dispatch

His nighted life; moreover, to descry

The strength o' the enemy.

Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.

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